


Hamlet 3

by Overdressedtokill (SkyeStan)



Series: That One AoS Prep School AU [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 15:18:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyeStan/pseuds/Overdressedtokill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on: "I want more 'characters must put on a high school production of hamlet and everything goes horribly wrong' AUs.”  Or, Mr. Coulson's production of Hamlet is not going well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hamlet 3

"I'm almost positive Hamlet isn't supposed to fly," Grant says.  He's not nervous, he really isn't, but the tech crew seems a little over eager this year.  Particularly Fitz, who's triple checking the wires on Grant's harness. Grant isn't even sure where they got a harness-he thinks that Fitz might've built the entire rig last night, which is impressive but does not bode well for Grant's overall well being.

"Mr. Coulson?" Grant asks from the stage, "are you sure this is a good idea?"  Their director shrugs.  He's been a little loopy since his heart attack last year, so apparently he's gotten a lot more loose with what students are and are not allowed to do on the stage.

 

"Oh right," Skye says from the pit, glaring up at Grant, "let's literally lift Hamlet above everyone else.  Like the play doesn't do that already." Grant isn't entirely happy about getting saddled with Skye as his Ophelia-but apparently she's here as a "community service."  As in she picked doing Hamlet over in school suspension (for God only knows what) and she seems to be deeply regretting that decision.

"Ophelia could fly too," Fitz says, peeking out from behind Grant.  Skye seems to consider it, drumming her fingers on the stage.

"What if we rewrote the play entirely?" Skye offers, "Instead of Ophelia drowning herself to further the plot, she could rise above the patriarchal structures and take over the kingdom herself!"

"We're sticking to the script, Skye," Mr. Coulson says, "Hamlet is a classic."

"Oh, and that just excuses everything," she snaps back.  Mr. Coulson steels her with a firm glance, and she turns her gaze to her converse.

"Fine," she mumbles.

 

"So is Ophelia flying or not?" Fitz asks, at the same time that the doors to the auditorium swing open and little Jemma Simmons comes running down the aisle with  a giant bucket of what looks like...fake blood?

"Ophelia's flying?" Simmons asks, "That's a twist."  Grant can practically feel Fitz tense up.

"I mean-" Fitz sputters, moving away from Grant and off the stage, "do you think that's a good idea?"  He takes the bucket of blood from Simmons with a flourish, almost spilling it on himself in the process. Simmons giggles.

"I think it's neat," she says.  Fitz nods.

"Same.  It's tidy."  Skye has joined the two of them, staring into the bucket.

"Is this actual blood?" She asks, "Because it smells kind of coppery."  

"It's a synthesized blood-like substance," Simmons says, "my own personal formula."

"You make fake blood on the regular?" Skye asks.  Simmons shrugs.

"Fake blood, fake bile, all kinds of fun stuff!"  Fitz nods in agreement.

"Simmons makes the best fake puke you've ever seen!" He says, grinning.  "Remember that time we got out of third period because you 'vomited'-"

"And I need you to take me to the nurse?  How could I forget?  You're the one who designed the to make it look like I was actually losing my breakfast!  It was-"

"Guys?" Skye asks, "fake blood?  Flying actors?"  Simmons and Fitz both laugh at their own story for another moment.

"Right," Simmons says, "so this is your batch of blood.  Cover it with foil and keep it cool, and it will be ready to go!"

 

Grant's been semi awkwardly standing in his harness this whole time, and he's kind of glad that no one on the lacrosse team is doing Hamlet with him.  It's not a big deal for a jock to be doing theater (everyone needs to look 'well rounded' on their college applications), but he still feels more than a bit silly.

"So am I going to fly or-" Grant asks, gesturing to his harness.

“Right!” Fitz says.  He places the bucket off to the side, running back up to the stage.  “You’re going to love this Simmons,” he continues, smiling at Simmons from the stage. She claps her hands in excitement.  

“Make him fly, Fitz!” Simmons exclaims.  Skye snickers.

“Yeah, Fitz, make Hamlet fly.”  

 

Grant has a retort for Skye but he loses his nerve the second Fitz drops the first counterweight.  Here’s the thing: Grant’s a pretty tough guy.  He’s been in a few fights.  He gets beat pretty bad on the field sometimes.  He lifts weights.  He is not prepared to suddenly be lifted six feet in the air.  So maybe he kind of lets out something like a high pitched shriek, but can you really blame him?

“Brilliant!” Simmons declares, “You’ve done it again, Leo Fitz!”

“You know we can all see the outline of your junk, right?” Skye calls to Grant, and he quickly brings his hands to cover his crotch and flips over.  His legs kick in the air a couple of times, trying in vain to move his body upright.

“Fitz,” Grant yells out, “was this supposed to happen?”  Fitz moves under him, staring up at Grant rather sheepishly.

“Well you’re only wearing a waist harness,” Fitz says, “you moved your center of gravity.”

“Can I come down now?” Grant asks.  Fitz nods, running off.  Grant hears a loud banging on the side of the stage, followed by a steady stream of Fitz swearing.

“Mr. Coulson?” Fitz says, rather desperately, “I’m not entirely sure how to get Grant down.”  Skye is laughing so hard that she’s started to cough.

“I think I need to sit down,” she gasps.

“Simmons,” Mr. Coulson says, “can you go to the gym and get Ms. May?  Tell her to bring a ladder.”  Simmons lets out a squeak of surprise.

“Ms. May doesn’t like me very much-” she says.

“I feel lightheaded,” Grant says, “Also a little sick.”  Simmons sighs.

“I’ll be right back!” she says, quickly running out of the auditorium.

“If you pull the wires you should be able to get back upright!” Fitz says.  It takes Ward a moment to properly grasp the wires and when he tries to pull himself up the rope shutters.  Ward drops about half a foot, letting out another _manly_ yelp of surprise.  

“I’m crying,” Skye says, gasping for air, “I’m legitimately crying.”

“I’m definitely going to puke,” Grant says.  Skye won’t stop laughing, and Grant snaps, “Skye if you don’t shut up I swear to God I will aim for you when I puke.”

“There will be no puking in the auditorium,” Mr. Coulson says, “And while you’re on the stage, we’ll go over Hamlet’s lines from Act 1, Scene 2.”

“With all due respect Mr. Coulson-” 

“But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son-” Mr. Coulson half shouts over Grant, finishing his line with an expectant flourish.  Grant feels his lunch starting to migrate back up his esophagus.

“And my son-” Mr. Coulson repeats.

“A little more-” Grant has to take in a deep breath, “a little more than kin and less than kind.”  His face is staring to feel tight.

 

Simmons is actually pretty quick getting Ms. May, who strides down the aisle of the auditorium with such authority that even Skye stops laughing.  Grant’s managed to semi-upright himself, though he still feels a bit dizzy and notices that Ms. May does not have a ladder on her.  She regards him for a moment with a tight lipped glare, crossing her arms over her chest as if she’s disappointed in the entire theater program (she actually is).  And then-she laughs.  Ms. May lets out a peal of laughter, probably for the first time in thirty years. 

“So this is Hamlet?” She asks, and Mr. Coulson stares at her in stunned silence.  She gives Mr. Coulson a wry grin, turning on her heel and walking towards the exit.

“Wait-” Grant yelps, “Ms. May!” She shoots him a look over her shoulder.

“I’m going to get a ladder,” Ms. May says, her tone implying that it should be obvious.  “Relax.”

 

Grant Ward would very much like to crawl up into a ball, preferably on firm ground.  Ms. May opens the ladder under him, and he grabs it for dear life.

“You need to let go so I can undo your harness,” Ms. May says.  Grant tries not to look terrified.

“Do I have to?” he whispers, and Ms. May rolls her eyes.  She makes quick work of the knots, catching Grant as he falls slightly forward.  He doesn’t mean to cling to her like a wet kitten, but he’s just spent the past 10 minutes suspended in the air and he’s feeling a little fraught.  He’s never been quite so happy to have his feet on solid ground, and goes to slide off the stage, avoiding Skye’s gaze (and he can still hear her snickering).  It’s only when Skye snickers turn to full blown laugher that Grant realizes that his right foot feels a bit wet.  He looks down.  

He’s managed to slide off the stage and right into Simmons’ bucket of synthetic blood.  He hears Simmons let out a pained noise.  He thinks, for a moment, that he should just kick the damn bucket over, but he manages to gather himself.  He pulls his foot out of the fake blood and walks towards the exit, ignoring the squishing sound coming from his sneaker.  He can feel the blood soaking through his sock and it looks like he’s gotten his leg stuck in a bear trap, or something.  He calmly makes his way to the door-and only when he is outside of the auditorium does he slam the door.  Of course, it’s a swinging door, and for once, he manages to step back and avoid it.  He does hear a faint “Ow!” coming from the auditorium, followed by a rather pissed looking Skye joining him in the hallway.

“You didn’t have to throw a door at me,” she says.  “It’s not my fault Fitz forgot to build in a lowering mechanism.”  Grant glowers at her, and she moves her gaze to his blood soaked leg.

“Want some help cleaning up?” she asks.  Her tone is soft enough that he feels his bitterness melting, if only slightly.

“We’re putting you in the harness tomorrow,” he says.  She grins at him.

“Like hell you are,” she replies.


End file.
